


sweating our confessions, the undone and the divine

by onekingdomonce



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, the pairing is a background concept really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekingdomonce/pseuds/onekingdomonce
Summary: Laurent felt a pang in his chest, along with a heavy throb that ribboned throughout his whole body. He missed Damen.





	sweating our confessions, the undone and the divine

**Author's Note:**

> alternative description for this fic, as stated on twitter: laurent misses fucking damen so he fucks himself.
> 
> big thank you to [ caravanslost ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caravanslost/pseuds/caravanslost) for looking this over and being an extra pair of eyes, you’re a gem <3

The impact of the door closing was a welcome sound. It resonated with finality, the day coming to an end with its sturdiness behind Laurent’s back.

He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the silence of the chambers, the crackle and pop of the fire that a servant had lit before he’d come. It was hypnotic, far more soothing than the sound of bickering councilors who had spent the better part of the evening squabbling over this and that. A Lord from Arran requiring an audience to discuss all that he had to offer for upcoming deals with Sicyon in the way of bartering. Meetings with Lady Gillette to receive her notes on the newest edict regarding Pets outside the capital. Revisions from Enguerran that Huet didn’t agree with. 

The list seemed to double in size each time one issue was resolved, his earliest appointments scheduled for the following day already nudging at his mind. Laurent thought of Damen’s futile insistence that they leave all matters of the kingdom outside of their rooms as he walked through a small alcove and into the bedchamber, glancing around. It felt larger without him. The cushioned bench at the foot of their bed where he often dumped his cloak, empty. The wine he occasionally indulged in, absent. The deep lure of his voice when he was lazily coaxing, notably missing. 

It was late. Laurent lifted his hands to the collar of his jacket, catching a glimpse of himself in the hanging mirror as he fingered at the laces, pulling at one nimbly. It was cross stitched with silk embroidery, one of his more intricate pieces. Nikandros had said it looked like a tapestry with sleeves, once he’d deemed it safe enough to speak his mind around Laurent without fear of getting flogged. It pleased Damen, he knew. Damen thought the way his eyes passed between the two of them bantering was sly, when in reality he often seemed moments away from pulling them both into a shared embrace.

Laurent’s undershirt was soft enough to sleep in. The ends that he usually tucked in fell to the tops of his thighs, and the laces that fell down the front were thin enough not to prod at his chest if he rolled onto his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed as he rolled his pants down, bending over to tug each boot off. 

A muscle twinged in Laurent’s back as he crouched, a sharp pain running through his spine as he straightened himself up, stiff. The rise of his hand was instinctive, his fingers curling as he palmed the back of his neck, squeezing. If Damen were there he would have brought a hand to Laurent’s shoulders immediately, kneading at the skin, working to relieve the tension as though his own muscles ached. His hands were larger than Laurent’s, and stronger. Laurent closed his eyes as he thought of the way they felt against his skin, solid and persistent, tracing out each contour. He let out a long, slow breath as a knot gave way, lips parting a fraction at the sensation. If Damen were there, he might push him onto his stomach and straddle Laurent’s hips, running his hands down the entirety of Laurent’s back.

He wasn’t there. He was somewhere in Kesus separated by miles of terrain, time and thousands of ongoing lives. They traveled together more frequently, though upcoming negotiations made the precarious. The palace could not be left without at least one of them present, much to Nikandros’ silent but blatant surprise at their responsibility. 

Damen favored the palace they had built, just as Laurent did. His voice had grown warm each time they’d spoken about it, making plans in the months following his recovery. That same warmth remained most mornings when they woke up next to each other in this bed, bright and tender, but it wasn’t Ios. No matter what they created together, it wasn’t the same as the memories Damen had created in the home he had grown in, just as it would never be the same as the halls Laurent had walked as a boy with his own brother.

Laurent went back with him often, the parts of him that still felt young enjoying the way Damen would take him around the cities and show him the different spots, radiating with barely contained pride and excitement that he likely didn’t realize he was displaying. The green stretch of meadows that opened to wide views of glistening water. The taverns and inns, ones that he told him he’d visited with Kastor as an adolescent. The dark alleyways where Laurent took his hand and tugged him into, away from prying eyes. 

Laurent lowered himself back onto the mattress, adjusting himself against the sheets in his usual spot by the sheer silks curtaining the bedpost. In Arles he’d typically slept in the center of his bed, and the concept of now having a designated side might have been strange if it didn’t feel so natural. The pillows were a nice contrast against his exposed skin, cool on his neck as he turned his head, inching over to mend into a more comfortable position. He thought for a brief, overcome moment that the sheets might smell like Damen, but that of course was unrealistic. The bedding had since been changed, more than once, all traces of him washed away and replaced with the scent of fresh linen. If there seemed to be remnants of Damen around the room, they were only figments of Laurent’s imagination. 

Laurent shifted again as he sighed, his eyes coming open. He felt - restive, like a strap pulled too tight in his armor. It was as if there was a rigidity in him that needed to uncoil, to find relief, and yet sleep felt far away. He might have sparred if it weren’t so late, his prospects limited. A hot bath seemed more tempting, but something about remaining in bed was more appealing. He could conjure up the imagine of Damen sprawled beside him, as though being where Damen had held him would settle the frenzy in his mind.

_Stop it_ Laurent thought to himself as he brought a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes and down his mouth. It was ridiculous, the way he was thinking. Damen wasn’t even in the same _province_ and he was still lying in a daze, flushing at the mere thought of him.

Laurent had never been accustomed to other people seeing his distress, never allowing anyone to have the upper hand of knowing what he was like while unsettled. Damen was the exception, as he was to most things. It was becoming less of a rarity for him to see Laurent get into bed, his restlessness clear from the coiled set of his shoulders, the concentrated pinch of his brows that Damen liked to sweep with his thumb, smiling. There were a number of ways Damen navigated times like these, where Laurent was too wound up and needed to remove himself from inside his head. Sometimes he would talk, speaking of mundane things that had no correlation to anything of real importance, anything that could circle away from the strenuous events of the day. Other times he would take him somewhere, the night gardens for a stroll or even the balcony for fresh air and the hum of crickets. Many times, he would distract Laurent in far more proficient ways.

There was a variety of different ways Damen showed that he wanted Laurent. He could be understated about it, catching his eye with a tilted head or commenting on the number of laces he was sporting that day. Sometimes in council meetings, his remarks would turn short and brisk and Laurent would know that he wanted everyone else to leave. Laurent would then draw out his own contributions on matters as important as steel tariffs, seeking out Damianos’ own input on the matter. 

And just as often, he was direct about his wants. The tips of Laurent’s fingers trailed along his thigh the way Damen’s would under the table during dinner. The way he might nose at his neck or murmur softly in his ear when they would pass a secluded alcove, his hand moving down Laurent’s hip. At nights he would roll Laurent onto his back and cover his body with his own larger one, or he’d move him onto his hands and knees when the mood struck them. Damen liked to cradle Laurent’s face as he kissed him, to encourage Laurent to shift their positions however he wished, the room silent apart from the pressure against the bedframe and the drag of their mouths. 

Damen liked to use his hands, almost as much as Laurent liked him doing so. They’d become acquainted with parts of Laurent’s body that he’d never thought would be so responsive. Damen was good at that, at finding ways to make everything good. Damen could unravel Laurent with what seemed like a crook of his finger. He knew how to hold him, how to draw everything out of Laurent with his own desires. He knew how to touch Laurent to make him forget everything else. Laurent’s thumb was at the juncture of his hip, his other hand curling into the sheet beneath him when he realized – he could have that, now.

Laurent’s touch paused as his lips parted, glancing around the vacant room. He swallowed, the blanket catching under him as he pressed an elbow into the mattress, pushing himself up. He felt warmer than he had when he’d walked into the room and faced the fire, more conscious of his heated skin. The atmosphere around him was heavy like he was being watched, but there was no one else there. Laurent was alone, with nothing but his thoughts.

Laurent wasn’t made of stone, and his body had the same needs as any other young man. But the notion of it had always been more clinical to Laurent, a detached form of release that was a means to an end before it had even really begun. And then, it was different with Damen. If Laurent ever actively brought himself pleasure then it was with Damen, _for_ him. A spark of surprise always passed through his eyes whenever Laurent brought a hand to his own cock, or farther down between his legs, not expecting it.

Or perhaps not, Laurent thought with a wash of fondness as he rubbed a hand down his stomach, smiling to himself. Perhaps they both liked games.

Doing it alone had crossed his mine before, fleetingly, but Laurent couldn’t recall ever giving the thought as much enthused interest as he did now. He considered getting out of bed and sweeping aside the curtain to the balcony, but it was like moving would take this new idea with him. Once the seed of it entered his mind, it wouldn’t go away on its own. He sank further back into his recline.

Damen occasionally touched himself, Laurent knew. More than once he had woken up surrounded by shadows or in the early morning, jostled awake by steady movements and soft grunts that the press of Damen’s lips did little to suppress. He was always a safe distance away from Laurent’s body, eyes usually closed. The first time Laurent had watched in rapt silence, his own mouth pressed together as Damen’s parted with his pleasure. Laurent had then shifted onto his side and set his chin on Damen’s bicep, telling him that he was just about to offer a hand.

Laurent felt a pang in his chest, along with a heavy throb that ribboned throughout his whole body. He missed Damen, missed the way he felt when he was with him. It was far more difficult than Laurent ever thought it would be, to step away from something once you realized that you needed it. It was like a sword without its hilt. The blade was there, just as sharp as before, but the base of it was gone, rendering it incomplete. Laurent didn’t like the clouding sensation, the way he felt tangled in the thoughts of it all. He wanted to – he _wanted._

It was effortless to turn over and reach for one of the vials of oil they kept nearby. The liquid was clear and unscented, mainly because neither of them cared for the way most colored oils held artificial flavors, tampering with tastes. It was small enough to fit in one hand, the stopper coming off easily with the press of Laurent’s thumb.

It was simpler when Laurent had a task at hand, when he had something to do rather than just lie there and think about it. He knew what to do, the things he enjoyed feeling like far less of a distant idea, the way they used to. He coated his palm with oil.

Laurent thought of what Damen would do, had he been there with him. He could almost see the way it would be, Damen sitting back on his heels with his hands on his thighs, eyes passing over Laurent with a look crossed between patience and hunger, a lion baring its teeth.

Laurent spread his thighs a little, feet pressing into the mattress. Damen would like that. He would make that sound in his throat, the deep one that Laurent liked, watching as his fingers grazed the edge of his cock. Laurent’s fingers circled around the head, breathing the feeling in.

He started slow. It was the way things often began, Damen’s fingers wrapped around him as he stroked him to full hardness, often in their bed and sometimes against the wall with his face pressed into Laurent’s neck, mouthing at his pulse. The oil coating Laurent’s hand made things slick as his wrist moved. He stopped to create small, slow circles around the head, and felt his blood rush as a thrill ran down his spine.

It was strange, being alone in the room as his fingers rubbed around the head. There was no one around to see the firm stroke he gave down to the base, no one to see the way Laurent’s face tilted to the side, thoughtlessly, his eyelids lowering. Damen usually leaned over and brushed Laurent’s cheek when he became like this, hazy and unthinking. Damen wasn’t there for that tonight; this was all just for Laurent.

Laurent thought of how Damen would react, the look on his face if he was handed a letter by a messenger, and opened it in his chambers to read of how Laurent had touched himself to thoughts of him. Laurent’s wrist sped up, just so, his grip tightening as he pictured it. It would excite Damen, would likely arouse him, and just as likely stir him with some inane frustration at being unable to do anything about it himself. 

The thought made Laurent laugh to himself, a small breath that turned shaky as his second hand, dripping with freshly coated oil, pressed between his thighs. He didn’t have Damen there to push his knees up to his chest or to prop his feet onto his shoulders, and it took a little rearranging and shifting of his hips before he found an angle that worked.

He wanted to see Damen’s expression, the way his eyes would widen with realization and his lips would spread with appreciation before subsequently pressing together, his teeth biting down. It would be the same expression he displayed whenever Laurent managed to catch him off guard, pushing Damen back down onto his throne after dismissing everyone from the hall, or when Damen undressed him to find that he had already prepared himself. 

Laurent moaned as he pushed his finger in, and then deeper, his toes curling at the sensation. It was getting harder to surprise Damen, enough time having passed that he tended to know what to expect. There was a different kind of excitement in that, Laurent mused as he pressed a second finger in, mouth opening mindlessly. There were worse things than having Damen know him well enough to be able to anticipate his whims. That too was a reality Laurent never would have imagined for himself.

He curved his fingers inside himself, shivering. A spark of pleasure shot through his stomach and he did it again, groaning from it. Laurent could feel the tremor pass through his thigh as he moved against it, chasing the feeling. His palm moved up, carefully, following the path that Damen would make with his lips, crouched between Laurent’s legs and nosing there. He had the morning he had left, kissing Laurent awake before pushing the sheets off them and making his way down Laurent’s body.

Damen liked to use his mouth on Laurent, and Laurent had discovered that he liked that too, with him. He liked the physicality of it, the way all of Damen’s power seemed to blend into nothing from the drag of Laurent’s hand and the flat press of his tongue. He liked the sounds that Damen didn’t realize he was making, the way his accent thickened around Laurent’s name.

Laurent gripped the base of his cock, his fingers stilling inside himself as he tried to slow down. His breaths were leaving him hard, ragged. Damen did that too, when Laurent would take him deeper. 

He was stretched well past three fingers. It felt so good, and he knew he could take more. He wanted to, he wanted Damen to hold him down with his weight and press his wrists into the mattress, to have his body pinned against the bed as Damen fucked him how he liked. There was something about Damen when he was like that, something that was unparalleled to any other experience. Damen could take him slowly, could have his arms wrapped around Laurent’s body like an embrace and kiss him so leisurely that Laurent thought he would seep out of his skin and into the bedding. But then he could be different, unrestrained, and it made Laurent feel like he had been created to sate all of Damen’s desires. 

Laurent’s elbow felt unsteady as he rolled onto his side, attempting to tamper down his impatience as he rifled through a drawer. His cock was achingly hard against his stomach; he was open and ready. He paid no mind to the sweat that was beading down his brow or the flutter of timid awareness that might still be there, a distant lingering in his mind. Any reluctance had altered into a desperate need for release; he could ponder his actions after he gave himself this.

The smooth touch of it against the tips of Laurent’s fingers was an exhale of relief. He hummed as he rolled himself onto his back and drew his knees apart. It was large, heavy in both of his hands, his cheeks burning with anticipation and a new kind of thrill. 

A gift from Halvik, straight from Ver-Tan. _Best cock you’ll find in the mountains,_ she had said. Laurent remembered how much they’d laughed together, and how much he’d laughed at Damen’s reaction to Laurent keeping it. They’d experimented with it at first, though Damen had tired of it quickly, discarding it to the side and pushing into Laurent himself. Laurent hadn’t minded. As good as some things were, Damen was always better.

The sound Laurent made was louder than he had expected, long and uncontrolled. This part still flustered Laurent at times; the initial thrust inside where it felt like it might be too much. He would grapple, wrapping his hands around Damen’s arms and clawing at his back, but it was never long before the grip turned into a desperate attempt to bring Damen even closer.

Laurent gave himself up to it, the consuming sensation of being filled. It wasn’t quite Damen, but nothing ever could be. It was enough to close his eyes and to feel it, to imagine that it was Damen looming above him, always seemingly mystified by whatever it was they were doing, unable to help himself from whispering about how Laurent looked, how good he felt, how well he took Damen’s cock. Laurent’s entire face was hot, waves of yearning passing through him as he took it harder, overwhelmed by how much he missed Damen. 

Time slid past him as he sunk deeper into his pleasure. Laurent kept up the rhythm of his wrist, whimpering when he angled it just right. He felt frantic as his free hand pushed his shirt up, like Damen would have, his breath stuttering again as he rubbed at his hardened nipple. Damen would - he altered the touch, pinching at himself between two fingers before soothing the pressure with the flat of his fingers, and then Laurent’s body trembled with a violent quiver as he came against his stomach in streaks. 

Laurent’s cheek was pressed against the pillow again, strands of his hair plastered to his face and falling into his eyes. His legs had fallen open, and it felt as if an age would pass before his breathing evened out. His shirt was bunched up beneath his chin, his abdomen wet with his own spend, and his entire body felt liquefied and replete. He couldn’t yet move to clean himself, to seek any form of composure, and he didn’t feel the need to. 

Laurent laid there, eyes closed as he thought of Damen in his chambers in Ios. He wondered if Damen was thinking of him too.

**Author's Note:**

> [ tumblr](http://laurent-ofvere.tumblr.com) / [ twitter](https://twitter.com/damensthighs)


End file.
